In Attendance, Out of Memory
by Aku Maru
Summary: She should be laughing at him. 'Severus, such sentimentality is reserved for us emotional Griffindors. You know that.' Snape remembers the dead only to be forgotten himself.
1. In Attendence

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In Attendance, Out of Memory  
  
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He hadn't been invited, but he had come anyway. He knew he would not be welcome here, so he remained at a distance. Everyone in attendance would have cursed him out of existence if they saw him present. Their animosity had been legendary for their time.  
  
He watched the solemn ceremony. It would have been beautiful, if one could consider a funeral as such. It was sentimental with all the teary eulogies and sobbing acquaintances and crying mourners of no relation. They had died as heroes and were treated to a funeral of appropriate proportion. He scowled. Lily would not have wanted this. James might, he was always a stickler for attention. But Lily, as outgoing as she was, preferred the quiet things. A book in the library. A walk along the lake. Sitting watching the grass grow.  
  
His eyes darken in the memory. He had watched her back at school and had seen how happy she was with James during these little escapades. He cursed James for dragging her into the middle of everything. That was what got her killed in the first place. James and his desire to be in the headlines.  
  
There were hundreds of wizards and witches in attendance, but none of them really knew who they mourned. They saw martyrs. They might have been, he grudgingly admitted, the Dark Lord was gone, for the time being. But these people were blind to the extent that they saw nothing else.  
  
Time soon began to press on them and the two coffins were lowered. Always together in life to be forever separated in death. They should have been placed in the same coffin, holding hands. Demented as it sounded, they belonged that way. Even he could see it. Even he could see her love and devotion to him. And he had been sickened with hatred. Their names adorn the same headstone, why not the same death bed.  
  
The sun set and the black masses dwindled. Black was not appropriate in the presence of Lily. Her spirit had been far to wild for such a somber color. It would have made her cry to view the mass of black, dressed so for her. She had laughed at his attire once at school. He hadn't minded, if only because her laugh was not mocking, but light and beautiful. "One might think you were death itself, Severus, all you need is a scythe." He had scowled at her then, brought up a base insult that was uncharacteristic of him and stalked off. Her comment had left him without words, but her delightful laugh left him stunned. She hadn't meant any of it.  
  
The sun had set and only two mourners were left. And neither would just let him walk on by.  
  
A sharp cold wind cut through his robes, announcing the onset of winter. He shivered at its harshness. He did not have a heavy cloak with him, but he didn't mind. He had made the cold part of him. It had help him survive.  
  
The wind blew again and he cursed. The slighter man would now know he was here, as the wind was placing him upwind. The werewolf would not be pleased to have him here. He lifted his head at the scent and turned towards him. The older man followed suit, but his glance did not hold the animosity of the werewolf.  
  
In an instant he was standing staring at him. "Are you satisfied?" Lupin demanded. "Come here to gloat?"  
  
He did not acknowledge the mans questions as the old wizard approached them. "Severus," he said neutrally, keeping the grief from his words. Keeping the grief where it belonged and not letting it bleed through to where it did not.  
  
He nodded, "Headmaster," he said blandly. He had been accused of having no emotions. They were there but buried deeply under the cold stone created for himself.  
  
"What are you doing here?" the werewolf demanded again. Of the banes of his existence, two were dead, one imprisoned, and the forth standing here in front of him seeking retribution.  
  
"I came to pay my respects," he answered tonelessly.  
  
"You have no respect," was the angered growl. "If you did, you wouldn't be here." Then Lupin stalked off. It was late, and people had places to be in the morning.  
  
He slowly worked his way to the grave site, knowing the Headmaster would go after the emotional Gryffindor.  
  
Standing at the foot, he frowned at a memory. Lily should be laughing at him now, laughing at his sentimentality. "Severus, such sentimentality is reserved only for us emotional Gryffindors, you know that," she had told him once. The circumstances were different but the meaning still applied.  
  
It had been a week or two before graduation and he had carefully sent an anonymous letter to her by school owl, saying only, Left library alcove. Such a place did not exist, she knew what it meant. It was a small private study lounge for students Madam Pince liked and trusted enough to take books away from her supervision without a note. He had been waiting there at the time the letter had been sent and so did not get to see the looks of confusion pass over the Marauders' faces. He didn't know if she would figure out who sent it or if she would even come. But he waited, absorbed in a book. Time passed and some one had taken the seat across from him. He had not looked up, but he knew it was Lily. She was one of the only ones who would take a seat so close to him voluntarily. The others were in Slytherin and not trusted by Madam Pince and would have demanded something from him by now.  
  
"I didn't think you would come," he said to the book.  
  
"You didn't give me anything to go by, so I was curious," she answered melodiously.  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat," he retorted. "Lions are no exception." He looked up then and saw an odd expression cross her face. He thought he could call it disappointment or annoyance, but Lily hardly ever had those looks and they were usually reserved for her immature boyfriend.  
  
"What did you want?" she asked, knowing that he would only give her a direct statement if she asked a direct question.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you." So much for her theory. She frowned and he hid a sly smile, then continued. "We are graduating soon and I don't want to see you hurt."  
  
"Hurt by what? I have James."  
  
"That's exactly who I mean."  
  
"I never thought you would be jealous."  
  
"I am not jealous," he answered darkly. "I just don't want to see you hurt."  
  
"Severus," she laughed. Her laugh could always break the tension and ease its way to the heart. "Such sentimentality is reserved for us emotional Gryffindors. You know that," she had said teasingly, but there was a small ring of truth. "I thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine. I promise." She left then and they didn't speak again that year. She had been too busy saying her goodbyes to friends among her lower classmates and discussing her plans for the future. He had not wanted to interrupt.  
  
Once she had left his table that day, he made a promise. "I will never let any harm befall you, Lily. Nor anyone you love. I promise." He knew he would regret that last part. She loved James and they would marry. It was written in stone. At the time he said this he had not know how vital it would be. He had already given his word to Lucius to join a 'selective political party.' He wasn't under the impression that it was anything but a place to practice the Dark Arts.  
  
Looking over Lily's grave, his knees gave way. James would be laughing at him now, too. He didn't want to acknowledge that, but he knew it was true. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not caring what James Potter thought of him now. "I failed in my promise." He wondered how the tears had not come yet. He wondered how he was able to voice his thoughts in the first place.  
  
He had failed in his promise and in the bloody Wizards' Bond. He had let Lily and her loved ones die. He had not gone to repay the Wizards' Bond to James. He had tried. At the first sign the Dark Lord wanted to go after Potter, he had informed Dumbledore. It helped that he had already betrayed the Dark Lord and played the spy on enemy grounds for the dark wizard. His double role was only known by Dumbledore. He had informed and told Dumbledore to get the couple to safety. Then the night before Halloween, the Dark Lord announced that he was going after the Potters, that he had the Secret Keeper. He had kept his Death Eaters at Malfoy's Manner that night and day, waiting for their Lord's victory.   
  
It hadn't come, but it also had. Their Lord never returned, but his Bond told him Potter was dead. He had a similar feeling for Lily. Quietly he slipped away, seeking the truth. He found it in a demolished and smoldering house and the half giant Hagrid carrying off something small. His life no longer had meaning after that.  
  
Silently he pulled out a small locket. In a fit of rage and remorse he emblazoned the images of those he was indebted to. James and Lily Potter took one, Albus Dumbledore a different one. His debts were of three different kinds; one he had no control over, another he had placed on himself, and the third he had sought, almost willingly accepted. There were two he would never be able to repay. The locket was a plain silver circle. No fancy adornments, no special spells to keep out the curious. Just the one spell that carved the images on the inside. And those did not move. They stared motionlessly at him. He though he saw them staring accusatory once the actuals the likenesses were base on died.  
  
He dug a small six inch deep hole at the foot of the grave and dropped the locket in. There was no point in carrying a reminder when there was no way to repay. Filling the hole, he rose. He should leave. He would be needed in Hogwarts in the morning. He remained staring not seeing the graves before him. He could still hear Potter's laughter, mocking him. Bitterly he thought, you died just to keep me miserable. He knew it wasn't true, which was why he didn't voice it. But it made him feel slightly better to be able to place some of the blame on the man. No matter how unjustified.  
  
A hand weighted his shoulder and he was looking into Albus Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes, even if the night air and insurmountable grief dulled them. He sighed and walked away.  
  
________________________________________________ Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. 


	2. Out of Memory

AN: For those who have just finished reading the first chapter, that chapter was written in 2003 before the Deathly Hollows came out. I'm leaving it as it though it could easily be altered to conform to HPDH. I feel proud to have placed at least Severus Snape's sentiments for Lily in the correct place. And if it weren't for the Mudblood incident, I believe that could have been the conclusion for their seven years together. The continuation is HPDH relevant.

Out of Memory

Graduation had come and passed. He had stayed in the school long enough to ask the headmaster for permission to visit two places students were not allowed to remain without supervision. So here he stood in the Headmaster's deserted office, gazing at the portraits of pervious headmasters and headmistresses, their likenesses asleep in the frames. But there were only two that concerned him at the moment. His namesakes. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Actually it wasn't true to even say Severus Snape had a portrait in the room. No one had taken the time to create one while he was alive, much less after his death. The portrait was stiff and silent, reproduced from someone's memory of what the Headmaster had looked like. From what he had been told, it was very accurate. The only thing that was missing was the memories. The memories that made a portrait speak and interact with the living.

It bothered Albus Severus that despite his seven years in Hogwarts and the eleven he spent with his family before even stepping foot in its doors all he ever heard about was the Great Headmaster Dumbledore. Even with the truth of Dumbledore's life they still praised him as a great and wise wizard. He wanted to know more. His father could only tell him the distorted stories of his childhood and battles with the Potions Master of Hogwarts. And he was very reluctant to tell any stories about the memories he had seen in the Pensive. Because in truth, his father didn't know much at all about Severus Snape.

Albus had befriended Griffindors. And Slytherins. The house rivalry was so thick he felt like the burning hot knife cutting through it. And at least once every day he wondered if he had chosen the right house. He was a Griffindor. Like his father, like his brother, like the rest of his family and family friends. And he very easily hid his middle name from the school. He was just Albus Potter. Simple as that right? Of course not.

Now he was staring at the portrait of the second man he was named for. The bravest man Harry Potter ever knew. A man who had died a lonely death. Suspected of betrayal by all. Murdered at the whims of Lord Voldemort. Hated and feared by a generation of students. Whose very name brings back terrible memories to anyone he asks. A betrayer, Death Eater, murderer, evil. Words he heard often. And yet Harry Potter, his father, called him the bravest man he knew. The side people rarely spoke of. The redemption given only in the heat of the moment when no one was really listening to it. A man who had spend most of his life protecting a boy he hated for the woman he loved.

How Albus Severus would have loved to speak with his grandmother about that. Albus had finally pulled the stories from his father just before graduation and he was glad. He wished he could have been influenced by those stories long before. But at least now he knows them. He's seen the memories. And now he looked at the face of the man he'd seen before on the rare occasion. It was a hard name to live up to now. Even if it was just himself who knew the stories, and everyone else conveniently forgot, Severus had a history Albus Severus Potter could never hope to rival.

Unbidden he put his fingers lightly on the painting just next to the sleeping man's head. The headmaster who had barely lasted the worse year Hogwarts had ever seen. The Headmaster who reportedly, from Albus Dumbledore, helped save the students from certain destruction. But who most remembered for the cruelty that occurred in the reign of darkness.

"What would you say if you had the ability?" He asked the silent painting. "Would you denounce everything they ever said about you or would you remain silent and let them think and speak of you as they wished. I wish I knew more about you. From you... not second hand views. I have so many questions only you could answer." The greasy haired middle aged wizard just blinked at him with a dull stare. "They probably only put you on the wall because of tradition."

Later that afternoon he stood before the small graveyard at the edge of Hogwart's boundaries. Dumbledore rested in the pure white reconstructed marble tomb that had been destroyed by Voldemort. It dominated everything around it. Albus had seen it many times at a distance. But what he came to see was a small headstone, simple with only the name and dates on the granite.

The funeral of Severus Snape was reported to be very small, with very little visitors. No one cared about the man they had grown up believing was a Death Eater with a bitter grudge against the world. The only thing that made the burial remarkable was the fact that the famous Boy-who-Lived was present. Albus had also learned from his father that the spy's body wasn't recovered for several days after its death. People were more concerned with loved ones. But Headmaster Snape probably wouldn't have wanted a large funeral. Not from what Albus understood. So one hero of the war would be forgotten. Dismissed from the pages of history because he was neither charismatic or beloved. Albus Severus Potter believed he could at least live up to the name in the sheer determination to never back down nor quite doing the one thing he believed would set everything right. After all the one thing both Slytherins and Griffindors shared was pure passion.


End file.
